


and i loved you so much it was making me sick

by Cirkne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Melancholy, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: For how much he knows about the world, Jonathan’s always struggled with putting Martin into words.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	and i loved you so much it was making me sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackwood (transjon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/gifts).



There are no angles to Martin’s body. There are bones and rough parts of skin and scars but there are no angles. He’s soft all the way through, he’s rounded edges, he’d leak honey if cut open. He’s gentle in a way you don’t see coming. In the way that he stands and the way that he speaks, sure, but he’s built himself that way, Jonathan knows he has. Something else. He’s gentle with how he holds things you give him, how he remembers. He’s got an awful memory and yet all the parts that Jonathan shares, pretending that they do not mean as much as they do, he keeps. 

Jonathan’s used to losing parts of himself. Some days he stands in grocery stores and struggles recognizing his own body. Sometimes Martin, wonderful, kind, Martin tells him about things he loves, or has claimed to love in the past, and they come as a shock to him. Were Martin not gathering them for him, he’d forget they were ever in his possession. 

There are no angles to his body but there’s a sharpness to his words. Something other than just wit. He’s all passion. He’s all red behind his eyes. He knows anger like no other. It boils inside him till it spills all over the ground and yet it never reaches anyone he cares about in ways it could. Jonathan knows his own faults. He knows when he says things he shouldn’t, he knows how he twists his words to make them hurt and yet even with all the pain and anger Martin is made up of, he could never follow. He knows exactly where the line is. He’s so familiar with it he stands three feet behind, he’s never even touched it. 

He’s all red behind his eyes, he’s all maroon stories and blood in his mouth, he’s all fights on the tip of his tongue, at the ends of his fingers. He exists to become his emotions. He feels more than you would think someone possible. He radiates love and fear and happiness, all one at a time, all bigger than the world itself. He is a forest, he’s never ending, he’s grass stains on your jeans, he’s condensation on bus windows. He reaches into your very core when he wants to.

All words. All research and experience, all knowledge. His lips full of things to tell you. He speaks like he knows exactly what you’re about to ask him. He’s all pink sunsets and long quiet car rides and songs you recognize from somewhere on the radio and the wind in summer. He’s freckles on your skin and stars in the night sky, he surrounds your every thought and action.

For how he exists everywhere at once, he’s made himself so small. He’s made himself a lamb. A sacrifice. He’ll burn alive before he allows any type of flame to touch you. He’s made perseverance an artform. He’s bigger than this whole place. He’s early morning mist. He won’t leave you alone. He’s-

For how much he knows about the world, Jonathan’s always struggled with putting Martin into words. He’d tried, in those early days, between sleepless nights and denial, between promising himself that Martin would not turn into an obsession, that this wasn’t love, or wasn’t going to turn into love. None of it worked. He’d been gone since the very first day. He’d taken one look at Martin and lost everything that held him together. 

It’s hard to believe, even now, that he gets to share space with Martin and isn’t an intruder. Martin laughs at Jonathan when he’s afraid of touching him. Gently, carefully, he calls Jonathan stupid for still being terrified, like he hasn’t made his affections clear enough already. And he has, of course he has, he’s spent years being everything Jonathan needed him to be. It still feels like Jonathan’s overstepping, somehow. Like one day Martin will realize that he’s too good, too important to be touched by Jonathan’s burned hands and he’ll tell him so. This part- the telling- it scares Jonathan. He knows, now, how evil he had been back then. How he’d pushed and pushed and pushed until Martin accepted it to be reality. So the telling part- maybe he wouldn’t tell him. Maybe he’d realize, finally, that Jonathan brings only dirt with his touch and he’d simply let him stain his skin. To make Jonathan happy. 

He gets this look in his eyes. This soft sort of worry when Jonathan’s overthinking things. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and he knows that anything he’ll say will only make it worse. So he doesn’t say things but he looks. He watches. He morphs his body around Jonathan. There is nothing he can do to help and yet he has to make himself helpful, somehow. Like his only purpose is to take care of others. 

He gives things to Jonathan before he’s asked for them. Jonathan’s always afraid to ask him for them. If he doesn’t, Martin has chosen to share them. It’s not true. Martin’s too smart for his own good sometimes. So he notices. He’s figured Jonathan out. He knows him inside out and he allows him to stay with him. He takes Jonathan’s attempts at affection like they’re gifts. Like they’re anywhere near being worthy of everything Martin is. It’s intoxicating. It makes Jonathan lightheaded. It makes his body weight nothing. It makes his thoughts travel through his entire blood stream, it makes his words scramble. 

He dreams like this: his head on Martin’s stomach as they lay in bed, Martin’s hand in his hair. He’s smiling. He’s bathed in light. He’s looking at Jonathan and there’s only affection in his eyes. He feels love, like he always does, with his entire being and it’s directed at Jonathan. 

Some days he works up the courage to lace their fingers together without prompting, to touch his hair, to press his lips, lightly, to any part of Martin’s body he can reach from where they’re sitting. Other- most days, really, he watches Martin do things and begs and pleads and prays for Martin to want to touch him first, to find the warmth of his body as comforting as he finds Martin’s. Martin sees him watch him. Martin sees him. Martin waits and tastes like honey and waits some more. He fills every inch of Jonathan’s world and keeps leaving space in his own for him.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what to say here


End file.
